


rhythm and rush

by kay_okay



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Past Character Death, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Therapy, past trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25399333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_okay/pseuds/kay_okay
Summary: Callum, an injured veteran, wanted to come to Walford to start over. A new place where he could leave it all behind him — the secrets, the lies, the trauma, everything. Where he could rebuild his life and start to help others like he always knew he wanted to do. But in group therapy, he meets Ben — a broody, sarcastic troublemaker that seemingly everyone in town warns him to stay away from. Before he knows it, Ben’s crash-landed his way into Callum’s life, bringing secrets of his own.
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 33
Kudos: 77
Collections: Ballum Big Bang 2020





	1. dawn is coming, open your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> **beta & art:**  
> thank you so much to my beta [craftyfandomgal](https://craftyfandomgal.tumblr.com/) for their beta help (even through the tumblr bugs!) and [sassy](https://eastendies.tumblr.com/) for the beautiful art (and so much encouragement, i got so lucky with my artist, thank you)! 
> 
> **author note:**  
>  i’m excited for you all to read what i’ve got so far. <3 an incredible special thanks to [rachel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RachelxAnnex/works) and [isabel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Blonde) and [jane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jestbee) for their support and encouragement and still being super excited for this even when i doubted literally everything about it. [soph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dingletragedy/) who is one of the kindest people in this fandom and read an early draft and gave me so much encouragement and positivity and of course [cait](https://archiveofourown.org/users/commonemergency) who isn’t even in this fandom and still welcomed me sending them pages and pages of ballum angst and still continued to ask for more. thank you to you all, i one hundred percent couldn’t have done this without you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title and lyrics lifted from ["stay alive" by jose gonzalez.](https://open.spotify.com/track/0ZNYGrmcehorhh9JOeg5Iv?si=HIKi5I6WTs6OrafrMnDJrg)

_there's a rhythm in rush these days_

_where the lights don't move and the colors don't fade_

_leaves you empty with nothing but dreams_

_in a world gone shallow_

_in a world gone lean_

  
  
  
  


“Is that the last of it, bruv?”

Stuart leans his palm against the wall at the top of the stairs, other hand braced as his hip. His bald head is shiny with sweat, shirt darkened under his arms with perspiration. Rainie has already given up and is flat on her back on the couch.

Callum chuckles to himself, claps Stuart’s shoulder. “That’s the last of it. Thanks, Stuart.”

“If the next time you want to move and it’s in the hottest bloody month of the year, I’m not volunteering,” Stuart complains. “August is off limits.”

Callum chuckles. “Thanks to you too, Rainie,” he calls in the lounge. 

Rainie grunts and raises two thumbs up, Stuart waving his hand in exhausted dismissal, managing a smile. “All good. Just glad we got a room for you here. Our home’s your home now.”

Callum nods after a minute, hoping Stuart doesn’t take his hesitation personally. He tries to meet him with a smile in return, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

His older brother can be thick, but thankfully now’s not one of those times. “It’ll be okay,” Stuart says quietly, leaning in. “Bein’ in Walford can be a new start, a place for you to get back on your feet after everything that’s happened.”

Callum nods in agreement and when he doesn’t answer, Stuart presses on.

“Maybe meet a nice bloke at your new job? You never know, bruv,” he grins and Callum chuckles weakly, shaking his head.

“Last thing on my mind right now Stuart, literally the last thing.” 

“I’m famished,” Callum hears Rainie call from the lounge, likely overhearing the uncomfortable turn their conversation had taken to trying to break the tension as she often did. “How about we get cleaned up and Callum can buy us that dinner he promised us for helping him move in?” 

Grateful, Callum agrees. “Definitely. You get in the shower first Stuart, I’m surprised your stink hasn’t caused the dead downstairs to rise.”

With much grumbling, Stuart ambles into the bathroom. Callum passes Rainie on the way to his new bedroom, and he throws her a thankful nod. She winks back at him.

Closing the door behind him and leaning his back against it, Callum lets his eyes wander. A bed with no sheets, an empty bookcase, a dresser with drawers stacked on the floor, endless cardboard cartons. His entire life reduced to half a moving truck, and now all here within his sight. He suddenly doesn’t have the energy for any of it.

Callum takes a short lamp from under the windowsill and unwinds the cord from around its base, plugs it in next to his bed. Absent a bed frame or side tables, he opts to let it sit on the floor, tugging on the chain to turn it on. The corner of the bedroom is bathed in a soft yellow glow, a comforting feeling that Callum embraces as he fluffs his pillow and lays down on his mattress.

The lamp was on this side of the bed in his old flat, too. If Callum tunnelled his vision and blocked out everything else, he could almost pretend he was back there now. Pretend that things hadn’t changed, he hadn’t moved here mostly against his will, hadn’t left behind the last bits of his former life in an empty flat and a pair of keys on a tiled kitchen counter. 

Callum closes his eyes and remembers, just for a moment, lets himself pretend things are back the way they used to be. 

  
  
  
  


Mick and Linda Carter own the pub here, the Queen Victoria. They’re a lovely couple, loud and raucous in the friendliest of ways, and welcome Callum with a pair of big smiles when Stuart and Rainie introduce him. 

“We’ll take proper care of you ‘ere, don’t you worry,” Mick promises him, slides a pint across the bar. “On the house. Welcome to Walford.”

Callum smiles at them, small but genuine, and takes the glass. “Cheers, Mick, Linda. Thanks.”

After dinner at the pub, Rainie complains to Stuart that it’s too early to go back home, she spent an hour getting ready, and _she’s going to keep this night going, for fuck’s sake._

“Um —” Callum hears the possibility of even more time spent socialising when all his body and mind wants to do is crash face-first back onto that bare mattress, “I think I might just head home —”

“Absolutely not,” Stuart laughs, “If I’m stuck with this one drinkin’ and dancin’ all night then I need you for company.”

Rainie, not hearing any protest from Stuart, claps her hands and jumps up from her chair, dragging them out of the pub, Callum’s protests lost in her wake.

  
  
  
  
  


“You didn’t tell me the Prince Albert was a _gay club,_ Stuart _,_ ” Callum hisses over the loud din of disco music. 

“Really, bruv? With a name like that, you couldn’t have worked it out in your big, fancy university degree-having brain?” He taps Callum’s skull with a thick finger for illustration.

“Stuart, I’m just not ready to —”

“Besides, you got somethin’ against this lot?” Stuart teases, moving aside the paper umbrella in his glass to take a big swig of the neon green drink. “Not like you to be so judgmental.” 

Callum rolls his eyes and takes the beer Rainie passes him. “They’ve got the best drinks and the best music,” she says, leaning her elbows against the bar and eyeing the dancing crowd in front of her, mostly half-naked men. “And the best view.”

Stuart narrows his eyes at her and between them, Callum sighs into his palm.

It doesn’t matter though, because a Donna Summer track comes on the speakers and Rainie grips his hand, dragging him onto the dance floor. With a slosh of beer over his knuckles, Callum acts quick enough to grab Stuart’s arm in turn.

“If I’m going, you’re going,” Callum shouts over the music at Stuart.

He wouldn’t admit it publicly, but Callum has a good time. The dance music is loud and the house lights are low, strobes of pink and white and blue painting the dance floor in time with Donna’s voice — _I feel love, I feel love, I feel love,_ she sings along to a synthy track of keyboards and drums and it’s nice to forget everything for a while. 

Stuart’s disappeared by the fourth or fifth song but Rainie’s still there, half his size and twice as much energy, smiling at every guy that spins her around as they squeeze past her. She cheers when a six-foot guy in a cowboy hat and not much else puts a string of fake Hawaiian flowers around her neck.

“Callum, look! I got _lei_ ’d!”

She’s grinning ear to ear and jumping along to the beat and he bursts out laughing. It bubbles up from his chest and he can’t help it.

Rainie looks pleased and he takes her hand and spins her around. It’s on her third revolution that she shoulders into someone, the guy lifting his drink to save it from going all down his front. Rainie clutches her lei.

“Sorry!” Callum and Rainie call at the same time to the guy, who just laughs and holds his free hand up.

“I’m all right,” he shouts over the music. “ _I will survive,_ ” he winks, hand to his heart, singing along with the line in the song playing. He catches Callum’s eye with a glint and smiles.

It’s stupid to say that at that moment the music fades, that the lights go down, that everybody in the room disappears into nothing when Callum looks back. He’d deny it if anybody asked him. He’d take this secret to his grave.

“Stopping to say hello to me, Ben?” Rainie asks pointedly when Ben stands in their space a few seconds too long.

“Rainie,” Ben says pleasantly to her, unaffected by her tone and turning back to Callum. “I don’t know you, though. Ben Mitchell.”

His voice is nearly drowned by the music, but Callum hears him and takes the offered handshake. “Callum Highway.”

“What’s that?” Ben asks. He pulls Callum’s arm closer, tugs him down until they share the same space, Callum’s mouth near Ben’s ear.

“Callum,” he repeats. He feels bass in his chest, drums against his temples. The soft grip of Ben’s hand still in his, the other at his elbow. “Callum Highway.”

Ben pulls back, lets Callum’s hand fall between them. “Pleasure.”

The guy shuffles between Callum and Rainie, eyes locked up into Callum’s and unblinking. The corner of his mouth lifts in a smile, and as he passes, Callum feels the drag of knuckles against his hip.

Callum doesn’t notice he’s stopped moving to the music, beer clutched in his fist as he watches Ben Mitchell’s back walk away from him. When he finally turns around, lifts his eyes to Rainie’s, she’s got a knowing look on her face. 

“ _No_ ,” she shouts over the music.

  
  
  
  


“ _No_ ,” Stuart reiterates, back at the bar nursing another neon green martini. “Absolutely not.”

“You both are making a big deal out of nothing,” Callum says, taking another pull from his beer. “Besides, I know it’s probably going to come as a shock to you, but I’m actually a grown man that can make his own decisions. I even went to the army all by myself.”

Stuart pulls a fake shocked face, hand on his chest clutching where a string of pearls might lay and everything. When he drops it, he’s got a stern look on his face. 

“You just got here. Don’t be getting mixed up with a Mitchell on your first night.”

“I don’t often agree with him, but he’s right,” Rainie chimes in. “Ben was gone for a long time, he ain’t even been back that long neither, and already he’s managed —”

He’s heard enough. Callum’s nice as they come but they’ve been picking all night and he’s worn out. He downs the last of the beer in his bottle and slams it on the bar behind him as his temper reaches a boiling point.

“You’re right Stuart, I just got here. I have a new job, a new place to live, a new life. Before everything that happened, I was somewhere else, happier and living my own life and now, I haven’t been here more than twenty-four hours and already you’re trying to control me. Why don’t you just stay out of it.”

It’s not a request. Stuart and Rainie wear a pair of shocked expressions at Callum’s outburst, but he barely notices. He gathers up his coat and tugs it on as he walks away, _Bruv!_ and _Callum, wait!_ behind him drowned out by frustratingly loud disco music.

When he pushes into the night air and rounds the corner, he doesn’t expect to hear his own name, clear as a bell and nearly knocking him over.

“Callum! Leaving already?”

Ben’s leaned against the club’s side wall, scrolling aimlessly through his phone. If Callum hadn’t looked up, he’d have run him over.

Callum zips up his coat and runs a hand frustratingly through his hair. After a pause, he answers. “Yeah, I’m… Long night.”

Ben waits a beat, locks his phone, slipping it into his pocket. “Walk?” he suggests, jerking his thumb down the road. 

  
  
  
  


Ben’s chatty as they walk, always dialed somewhere between snarky sarcasm and fervent flirting. Callum hasn’t flirted with anybody in a year and a half, but he wasn’t born yesterday. 

“You’re _Stuart’s_ brother? Fucking hell, I see who got the good looks in the family.”

Callum chuckles, but Ben says it good-naturedly and he’s on to the next thing within seconds. Their conversation flows easy and effortless, like they’ve known each other for years, but Callum still feels the crackle of anticipation and newness. He feels it in the way Ben smiles with one corner of his mouth, glancing over at Callum as he talks and they walk in tandem. He feels it in the way Ben grabs his arm, pointing at a dog galloping across the road to its owner before the dog knocks his owner over and they have a shared laugh, sound echoing off the pavement. Ben leaves his hand a little too long at Callum’s elbow, lets his fingers brush past the bent joint there again, and Callum thinks of the club and knuckles at his hip.

They pass a chip shop and the smell of frying potatoes and battered cod tauntingly wafts into Callum’s nose. His stomach suddenly growls loud and painful, and Ben stops in the middle of his sentence to stare.

“Not eaten in days, apparently?” he asks. Callum points over Ben’s shoulder at the chip shop, bright white lights from the inside reflecting off the garish red tables and bright yellow chairs. Ben makes a half-growl half-cheer, grabbing Callum’s wrist and pulling him through the door.

They decide on three orders of cod and chips to split between them, and have a very heated argument about the pros and cons of curry sauce versus aioli. Callum brings up a ketchup/mayo combo he swears by and Ben looks at him like he’s suggested dipping his chips in human blood.

“We’ll take one of each of the sauces, too,” Callum amends their order, the cashier not answering as she types it into the till. 

“We need to test them all,” Ben says, shrugging at the cashier like it’s obvious, who looks equal parts bored and annoyed. Callum starts to hand over his card to pay for half, woefully thinking of the state of his bank account having not yet started his job, but Ben shakes him off.

“You get the next one,” he says. And Callum feels it again, the crackle.

When their food comes out, steaming and smelling incredibly like the best combination of salt and hot oil, Callum and Ben take it outside to sit at an empty bench in the darkened square. It’s an unusually warm night, people still milling about on the road but it’s empty here in the park. They each sit at an end of the bench, feast laid out between them on flattened paper bags and sauces in open take away containers dotting the spread. They dig in without fanfare, too hungry to be polite. 

“Ketchup and mayo mixed together,” Ben tuts disgustedly from around a mouthful of cod, watching Callum dip a handful of chips in his concoction. “This would never work out between us.” 

“Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it,” Callum says, raising an eyebrow. 

“Ah, someone who likes to experiment. I’ll keep that in mind,” Ben retorts. 

Callum chokes out a laugh before he can think the better of it, sees Ben grin into another bite of his fish. 

Ben throws their wrappings away in a bin when they’ve absolutely decimated every last morsel, and makes a satisfying groan as he settles back down on the bench next to Callum. Arms up around the back and stretching, he sighs. 

“That was delicious,” he says simply. Callum nods in agreement, settling against the back of the bench in parallel. The sounds of the square - distant laughing and far-away singing from jovial passerbys - permeate the surrounding trees slightly but don’t crack the bubble Ben and Callum have made for themselves. Out of the corner of his eye, Callum sees Ben reach into his coat pocket and produce a sizable flask. Callum turns to look and raises his eyebrows. 

Ben just shrugs. “Never know if the barkeeps are going to be heavy-handed or stingy at the Albert, so I try to always bring my own.” 

He knocks back a swig and offers it to Callum, who considers it a moment before shrugging and taking it. He mimics Ben’s gesture, letting the sharp liquid slide down his throat and light his insides on fire. 

“Fuck’s sake,” Callum murmurs, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth. Ben just grins and swipes the cool metal out of his hands. 

A tone from Callum’s pocket breaks their companionable silence, and he wipes off his greasy fingers with a napkin to check his phone. 

“My brother,” Callum mumbles absently. He turns his phone over and sets it on the bench. 

Ben rolls his eyes. “Ignore him. Drink up.”

He passes the flask to Callum again who takes another pull, face contorting in disgust when he swallows. “That’s _poison_ ,” he croaks, Ben laughing loud at the sky.

“All the best whiskey is,” Ben remarks, taking it back. Callum turns over his phone again and types out a quick text.

_I'm fine, just need some air. I’ll be back at the flat later, don’t wait up._

He locks it and flips the switch to silent, tucking it in the side pocket of his jacket. Ben catches his eye so Callum holds his hand out to get the flask passed back to him.

“That’s my boy!” Ben shouts, clapping him on the shoulder and using the excuse of handing over the drink to slide closer. Callum rolls his eyes and takes another drink. They sit together without comment for a few minutes, sipping at the metal flask in silence until it’s finished.

“You’re quite broody, you know?” Ben remarks, screwing the cap back on and sliding it into his pocket. He leans back a little, gets a better look at Callum and squints one eye shut. “You have that tall, dark, handsome thing going for you.”

“If you tell me I should smile more or something stupid like that, I swear to god I’ll punch you right off this bench.” Callum turns his head, inches from Ben’s face now.

“Whoa, whoa,” Ben holds up his hands in surrender, backs off again. “Funnily enough, tall, dark, and handsome happen to be my three favorite personality traits.” He counts them off on his fingers and then jabs one into Callum’s chest. “Guess you’re in luck, Callum Highway.” 

Callum feels the corner of his mouth twitch, staring at Ben’s eyes. They twinkle mischievously under starlight, navy blue and framed by long eyelashes and deep laugh lines. Callum thinks of taking Ben’s hand, pulling it closer, kissing the starlight laid across his lips over and over again until he’s consumed by it. 

The thought comes on so suddenly and so visceral that it makes him look away and huff a shuttered breath, a gust of air aimed down at the pavement between his shoes.

Ben notices. He pauses for a long time, takes a look at his watch. “Should we head back?”

Callum nods, unable to meet Ben’s eyes, forces a quick smile on his face and hopes it does the trick to smooth over the awkwardness. He snags his phone off the bench and puts it in his pocket as he stands. 

They hadn’t walked far, so they make it back into town quickly. Callum is too mortified to say much of anything, embarrassed he’d not only let himself have that reaction but that he’d let himself have those feelings again. He’d come here promising he wouldn’t let anything get in the way of his starting over. 

It’d be a long eighteen months, and he needed to move on.

“Listen, Callum,” Ben starts, and Callum had zoned out so much into his own head he hadn’t even realised they’d made it back to town. They stood in front of a house Callum hadn’t seen before and Ben had his hands stuffed in his coat pockets. Ben’s eyes find Callum’s and he nods his head towards the house. “No pressure but, would you want to come up?”

It happens quickly: Callum thinks of Chris. They’d been back from the army a few weeks and started texting, it’d taken Callum days to work up the nerve. Maybe what they’d had was just in the army, just for the two of them in the middle of the night outside of barracks when no one else was around. Impatient, frantic presses of lips and desert-dry hands exploring miles of sun-kissed skin with nothing but wilderness and a million stars to see them. 

But things restarted like no time had passed at all. They met up for coffee in the afternoon and spent hours in a streetside cafe, talking about everything and nothing and so much they couldn’t have said under the watchful eyes of their commanders and troop-mates. Coffee turned into early dinner, drinks at two different pubs. Callum was intoxicated on it all, the ease of conversation, the heady freedom, the way Chris looked laughing, the way his cheeks pinked when Callum spoke, the way his voice got soft talking about his mum and his sister and how good it was to be back with them.

Callum remembers the end of that first night, outside Chris’ flat. Chris on a step and Callum on the pavement and how like that, their height difference was negligible as they saw eye to eye. He remembers Chris’ voice soft again, looking up into dark brown eyes and feeling his heart pound against his ribs, and _do you want to come up?_ tentative in the margin between them. Callum had nodded, taken Chris’ proffered hand and followed him up the steps.

He hurts now, most of the time, most everywhere. His head, his heart, his body. Fatigue pulls him in all directions and some days it’s hard to find the light, hard to crawl out of. Callum doesn’t know how this will end, or if it ever will.

But Callum looks into Ben’s eyes, kind and rounded and patient and doesn’t think Stuart or Rainie knew what they were talking about when they told him to avoid Ben. 

He can’t smile yet, but he nods and takes Ben’s hand. “Sure.”


	2. memory so bright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for light smut. title and lyrics lifted from ["forest fires" by axel flovent.](https://open.spotify.com/track/6AQ3guMjWgetjRpQASwrE5?si=_S15RMU3SJaAu6w4lv4EcA)

_ i can’t change your thoughts, my dear _

_ i can’t change your fears _

_ but if you want i'll travel near _

_ to make it disappear _

  
  
  
  


“So, full disclosure, I do live here with my mum and my brother but she and the rest of ‘em aren’t home tonight and I  _ swear _ it’s temporary,” Ben chuckles as he walks the perimeter, turns on a side lamp and hangs up his coat, his keys. “I’m going to get a place of my own eventually.” 

Callum looks around slowly, that way one does when they’re in someone’s space for the first time. It’s spacious but still modest, signs of life in every corner: coats thrown over chairs, shoes on the stairs, a cold cup of tea on a side table. Callum’s eyes roam the purple-painted walls and there’s family photos everywhere, one filled with people that looks to be from the nineties judging by the haircuts.

“Big family, eh?” Callum asks, pointing.

Ben looks at it and chuckles again. “Understatement of the year,” he replies, and gestures to the couch. “Make yourself at home. Beer, coffee, tea? I do have the good whiskey stashed in my room, though,” he cracks.

“Beer’s fine,” Callum answers. Ben comes back from the kitchen and presses a cold can into Callum’s hand, sitting at the other end of the couch. He leans into the corner and puts his hand up along the back again, like he had on the bench, looks a bit like he doesn’t want to spook Callum.

“Sorry if I’m —” Callum starts, but doesn’t think it through and isn’t quite sure what he was going for. “Earlier, I… I haven’t been here long and my brother —” 

“You got nothing to apologise for, Callum,” Ben says easily, taking a pull from his beer. “We can talk about it if you want, or not at all. It’s up to you.” 

Callum gives Ben a grateful look and nods, takes a mouthful from the can. He doesn’t answer right away and a hundred things to say circle his mind. Ben looks nonplussed, flips his phone screen-up on the table and opens a music app, something soft and plucky and low coming from the speakers. 

“This okay?” Ben asks, pointing.

“Yeah, course,” Callum says, nodding. “I like this song.”

“Me too.”

There’s another half-minute of lapse in conversation, and Callum squirms. God, he should just leave. He finishes the rest of his beer and is about to stand up when Ben breaks the silence again.

“I haven’t been here long either, you know?” Ben says. “I mean, I was here when I was a kid, gone for a while, came back, gone again. I only came back again a couple months ago. It’s different this time, though. Sometimes it feels like it might be the last time I run away and finally stay for good.”

“Why’s that?” Callum asks, interest piqued.

Ben takes a long drink from his can, sets it down on the table in front of him. He leans forward onto his thighs, fingers folded between his knees in thought. Callum watches him process something, the stories or memories or experiences winding through his mind. He’s seen it before on others and he knows Ben doesn’t need prompting, he just needs time.

“Things happened the last time I was here that made me think I might never come back,” Ben non-answers, doesn’t elaborate. “In fact, I promised myself once Walford was in my rear-view I’d never see it again.”

Callum’s insides shift watching Ben’s expression change. Storm clouds pass across the globes of Ben’s eyes as he remembers and Callum knows it was something bad to make him look like that. Something awful. He looks like he’s about to spiral into it and their — whatever this is, whatever this night has been, is less than three hours old but he reaches his hand out and lays a hand on Ben’s forearm anyway.

“Forward is the only way you can go,” Callum says. Callum politely ignores the film he sees over Ben’s eyes, the red rims and the flushed cheeks and he squeezes a little at the skin of Ben’s arm. “You can look back on the past, let it teach you, but living there is dangerous.”

“Why?”

Ben whispers, looks young and vulnerable and like he forgot Callum was there. The jokes are gone, the flirtatious bravado and the friendly teasing, salt-rimmed smiles from too many chips and deep-fried cod feels like it happened years ago. Callum’s at the edge of a waterfall. The water crashes around him, floods his chest and his ears and his head, but he can hold on to the rail. Or he can still turn and run.

“You’ll get lost.” His voice isn’t above Ben’s, afraid to crack the fragility. 

Ben doesn’t reach for him hastily, start kissing him like his life depends on it. He goes slow, edges toward Callum on the couch, gives him ample time to pull away. Ben moves his arm out from under Callum’s touch, wraps his fingers through the button loops in his shirt and leans closer.

Their lips meet, soft but not tentative. Callum might’ve known this was always coming — since Ben sat beside him on the couch, since the walk home, since the chips and cod, since the  _ I will survive _ on the dancefloor at the Albert and the graze of knuckles on his hip. He’s been lying to himself a lot the past eighteen months, but this much he knows is the truth.

Ben’s turned his head into their kiss, cranes his face up and when they part, opens his eyes. “Is this okay?”

Callum nods before he even thinks. His hands can go nowhere else but around Ben’s cheeks, thumbs pressing against the hard lines of a jawbone. “Yes,” Callum breathes into another kiss, another, another, tips his head forward and falls into crashing water, “Yes, yes. Yes.”

  
  
  
  


“Here, here,” Ben says impatiently, trying to simultaneously get the bedroom door open and pull Callum into another kiss. Ben had pulled him up the stairs, muttering he didn’t want to get caught against Callum’s mouth. Callum had nodded wordlessly and tried to quiet the hurricane in his mind screaming at him to run from this.

“It’s a right state, just a forewarning,” Ben says as he gets the door shut, smiling when he leans his back against it. The Ben from earlier is back, confident and coy and wrapped in want.

Callum doesn’t answer but he smiles back, gets his hands around Ben’s jaw again as he leans in and kisses him. Ben welcomes him in, opens his mouth and keens against Callum’s tongue. His fingers press lines into Callum’s chest, his belly, travel down until they grip at the button of Callum’s jeans.

He works the button through the hole and the unmistakable sound of a zipper coming down fills Callum’s ears. He feels panic rise in his throat again and pushes it down, lets Ben’s hands push him down, too. His back falls onto Ben’s mattress and Ben kneels on the carpet between Callum’s knees. 

“This okay?” Ben asks again, tugging at the waistband and getting the jeans over Callum’s hips. Callum nods, propped up on his elbows and watching Ben’s face change from tentative to elated. Ben tosses the jeans aside and gets Callum’s socks off one by one, balances his hands on Callum’s bare thighs when he leans in.

Callum meets him halfway there, bites against his lips and can’t stop his hands from gliding across Ben’s smooth skin. He tugs upward at the collar of Ben’s shirt, the universal sign for  _ get this off,  _ the nails of his other hand scratching at the soft hair at the back of Ben’s head. 

Ben grins when he tugs his shirt over his head, presses the grin into Callum’s mouth, doesn’t stop their kissing to undo the rows of buttons on Callum’s shirt. Callum shrugs out of the sleeves when it’s undone, lets Ben push him back onto his elbows. His mind is running, running, and he tries not to think about how this is the first… anything in eighteen months. Callum closes his eyes and breathes, tries to tunnel his thoughts down into one lane, one feeling at a time. Ben’s mouth pressing soft against his belly, traveling down. The sheets between Callum’s fingers, clenched and released. The wave of shivers that crawls up his back when he feels Ben’s fingertips at the waistband of his boxers.

Callum lifts his hips and feels cool air swirl around him, quickly replaced by Ben’s fingers wrapping around his cock and hot mouth sinking down.

“ _ Fuck, _ ” Callum feels a jolt of electricity through him, unwinds his fingers from Ben’s sheets to grip at his shoulders. An exclamation gets stuck in his throat and turns into a shaky exhale, Ben straightening his back to lean down further, squeezing handfuls at Callum’s hips. 

Callum’s fingers find their way into Ben’s hair, play around his ears and feel the hinge of his jaw working over him. It sends his pulse into overdrive, his rough exhales drying up his mouth, and he flicks his tongue out to moisten his lips. It’s so fast, but he feels the low simmer of heat building at the base of his spine, the familiar tingle in his toes as he curls them. 

Ben breaks off with a groan, twists his fist while he catches his breath. Callum watches Ben drop sucking kisses against the soft inner skin of his thighs, pulling mouthfuls of skin inbetween his teeth, and Callum keens. 

“I think I found the sweet spot,” Ben murmurs, punctuating with another soft nibble. Before he can answer, Callum sees Ben lean down open-mouthed, curve his neck elegantly, and feels his sensitive tip brush against the back of Ben’s throat. 

Callum shuts his eyes tight, drops his head back between his shoulders. He sees sparks suddenly behind his eyelids and grabs a warning at Ben’s hands at his hips. “Ben, I’m —”

Ben just pulls his hand out from under Callum’s, brings them up to his face, presses Callum’s fingertips into the hollows of his cheeks.  _ Fuck, fuck,  _ Callum thinks, breath catching thorny in his lungs as he lets go, comes into Ben’s mouth and watches the fireworks explode bright behind his eyelids one by one. It’s tiny explosions again and again, Ben as far down as he can as long as possible.

When Ben finally breaks off he gasps for air, eyes shut and eyelashes fanned across his flushed cheeks. Callum doesn’t try to hide his amazement and he reaches down for him, Ben’s eyes sliding open slowly. Ben draws the back of his hand across his mouth and smiles. Callum wants to  _ ruin  _ him.

He grapples at Ben’s shoulders to try and tug him up, and when Ben finally gets what Callum’s asking for, he gets to his feet eagerly. The waistband on his jeans is already loosened, and Callum watches hungrily as Ben gets them off quickly, stepping out once they’re in a puddle around his feet. Callum slides backwards on the sheets, Ben climbing up on the bed between Callum’s thighs.

Callum doesn’t want to talk so he busies his mouth when Ben is within kissing distance, presses their tongues together and turns them around. Ben lays on his back in the middle of his bed and Callum cages over him, gets a knee between his legs, pressing up with a roll of his hips.

He feels Ben writhe under him. “Callum,” he murmurs, tugs at his neck with one hand, the other pressing in at the small of Callum’s back to get him closer. Callum closes his eyes and rolls his hips slowly, loves the sound of Ben’s voice like that, broken and desperate and needing him. It feels good to feel wanted, something that’d gone cold eighteen months ago reigniting, burning like a sun inside him. 

Ben pulls at the elastic of his pants, gets them finally to skin on skin and cries out when their cocks brush. Callum leans back and pulls the material fully off, Ben wrapping his legs around Callum’s waist when he leans down again.

“Can you come like this?” Callum asks quietly into rough kisses, pulls back again to lick a stripe up his palm and wrap it around Ben, pumping at him gently. Ben’s arms tighten around his shoulders and fingertips squeeze into the back of his neck as he arches, cries out in the affirmative.

Callum is good at this, clearing his mind and making sure his partner is taken care of, always has been generous in bed. He drops his mouth to Ben’s neck and feels the tug of soft skin between his teeth, the vibrations of Ben’s sighs against his lips. 

Chris wasn’t shy with his compliments. He was bossy in bed — what he lacked in stature compared to Callum he made up for by being mouthy and loud. Maybe that’s why Callum had been so drawn to Ben. Chris knew what he wanted and he told Callum, at the same time telling him how good it felt and making Callum feel like he was on top of the world when he was really just an inexperienced novice. It helped Callum come out of his shell, embrace a sexuality and a lifestyle he’d only just begun to understand about himself, one he’d tried so hard and failed to ignore. Callum always told Chris he was so lucky to be from a supportive family, one that loved him for who he was and allowed him to grow up and be himself. 

_ I’ve got you, Callum _ , Chris would tell him after in bed, holding one of Callum’s big hands between both of his own,  _ I’m your family now. And we have the rest of our lives to figure it out. _

Callum shuts his eyes tight to block out the memory, presses his forehead to Ben’s shoulder and sets his gaze on his hand, tries to make it good for Ben. He runs his thumb across the shiny pink head of Ben’s cock, spreads a pearl of moisture there and works it up and down, Ben arching his back again and drawing a breath in through his teeth. “Just like that,” Ben begs.

He tries to keep his head down but Ben pulls up his chin, connects their lips over and over, hinges their mouths open and slides their tongues together. “You feel so good, I’m so close,” Ben confesses in a tight whisper between them. Callum feels something hot prickle behind his eyes and he is  _ not  _ going to cry in this stranger’s bed right now, so he upticks the speed of his hand and it’s enough. Ben throws his head back and tightens his thighs around Callum’s waist, comes with a breath caught in his throat and Callum’s name on his lips.

Ben reaches a hand up and massages into the tired muscle at Callum’s bicep. He lets out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding, his body falling to the side of Ben’s, still curled up close to him and panting out rough exhales against Ben’s sweaty, undulating chest. 

Callum feels Ben reach over to the floor and grab his discarded t-shirt, running it over his own belly before tossing it back where it was. The motion jostles Callum’s head who lifts it tentatively, preparing himself mentally to make excuses and a quick exit.

But Ben comes back to him quickly, presses fingertips soft into the back of Callum’s neck until they’re connected again. Something quiets in Callum and he breathes in, the heady smell of sweat and sex and the warmth between their bodies grounding. 

It’s oddly comforting. Callum does his best to ignore the nervous beating of his heart and silence his mind.

In the quiet bedroom, Callum falls asleep to the sound of Ben’s breathing evening out, the soothing feeling of Ben’s fingers wiping sweat from his temples.

  
  
  
  


Callum has nightmares. Not every night, not even every week. But when he does, they’re shrouded in darkness, bright spots of light sparking like electricity in a pitch black sky. Figures run ahead of him, around him, behind him, shouting and pointing and dropping to the ground in heaps. 

He sees Chris in them sometimes, young and bright like he remembers him from when they first met. Callum will always be trying to get to Chris, obstacles in his way or barricaded somehow that it makes their reunion impossible. As loud noises surround him, he sees sand explode into clouds one by one, tiny granules like sharp glass cutting his face. Callum tries to yell, but the sand gets in his throat, dries it until it’s raw and scratched, his voice stuck.

_ Callum!  _ Chris’ voice sails across the dunes. He sounds farther and farther away every time he shouts.  _ Callum! _

He wakes up with a start, gasping and coughing, heart racing. Callum’s hands fly up to his throat, trying to wipe away the sand that isn’t there, desperate to catch his breath and find his voice again. His eyes are wild and scan the ceiling above him, not recognising where he is for a minute until he feels a stir beside him.

“Callum,” Ben murmurs sleepily, puts a hand on his arm as he turns into him. “You all right? Bad dream?” 

The room is dimmed with blue-tinged dawn streaming in through the curtains, summer morning sun just below the horizon and bringing a new day. Callum still hasn’t fully caught his breath when he looks at the alarm clock over Ben’s shoulder, sighing internally. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep or stay the night.

“Yeah,” he manages to affirm when his mouth has unglued itself, “‘S all right. But I’ve got to go.”

Callum’s already pulling back the duvet, fishing his pants off the floor to slide them onto his legs. He turns around as he stands and Ben’s rolled over onto his back, chest bare and cover slipped down to his hip bones. He arches into a stretch and runs a hand through his hair, preening. 

“Just so you’re aware, I’m incredible at making toast and jam. I think you’re really going to miss out.”

Callum smiles at him and pulls his jeans on, catching his shirt when Ben throws it at him. “I’m more of a savoury breakfast, full fry-up in the morning kind of guy,” he teases.

“Well, we’ll just have to do this again, I suppose, so I can get it right,” Ben fires back. He puts his hands behind his head and grins. The motion lengthens his neck, shows off definition in his arms and juts out his collarbone. 

Callum laughs, sits down on the side of the bed to get his socks on. When he finishes, he feels his shoulder get pulled back, his upper body falling into Ben’s lap. Ben’s mobile appears in front of him.

“Put in your number. If you want. If you never want to see me again, put in the number for Lorenzo’s Pizza. Then at least when I try to call you I’ll be able to order takeaway to get over my broken heart.”

He’s teasing again, and Callum looks up into Ben’s mischievous expression, huffing out another laugh. He thinks about leaving the Albert last night, so upset with his brother and intending to storm home, running into Ben outside. Their easy back-and-forth at the chip shop, the conversations and the quiet moments and the kissing and… everything else. He hadn’t intended to meet anyone his first night in Walford and certainly hadn’t counted on things going as far as they did. 

But Ben looks at him with twinkling eyes and a crooked smile and maybe it doesn’t have to be something so serious, something Callum has to fear. He can take it slow, one day at a time, minute by minute. Callum fell in love with the first boy he kissed, he’s never really done the whole casual dating thing. Maybe this is how it’s supposed to go. 

Callum types his (real) number in Ben’s phone, handing it back to him. “I had fun,” he says.

Ben locks his screen and tosses it aside on the mattress, tugs at Callum’s face until their lips meet soft, once, twice. “Me too.”

“I’d say good night, but…” Callum gestures to the window where the sun has come up a little further, the light changing the colour in the room to a pale yellow.

“Good morning, then,” Ben says, leaning back again. He looks satisfied, the cat that got the cream with the wry smile permanently tattooed on his face.

Callum laughs as he gets to the bedroom door. “Good morning, Ben,” he says as he closes it softly.

  
  
  
  


Callum hasn’t worn a suit in a long time, and the back of his neck is sweating against his collar. Humid August air is wafting in through the automatic sliding glass door every time it opens, and patrons that walk through the door are fanning themselves with paper fans and folded newspapers as they approach the receptionist’s desk. Callum has to hear the young man carry on the same conversation about the weather at least ten times. He grabs the buttons on the front of his shirt and fluffs them, trying valiantly to get some kind air circulating around his chest.

“Mr Highway?” Callum raises his head and looks up towards the door leading into the clinic’s offices. A shorter woman with dark hair and bangs and a friendly smile is looking at him expectantly. He stands and approaches.

“Callum,” he says, shaking her hand. “You must be Dr Fowler?”

“Sonia,” she replies, smiling as she scans her card to get back through the door she came. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

Callum shakes his head, “No problem.”

Sonia leads him down a hallway past offices and conference rooms. She turns a corner past what looks like a break room and gestures for him to enter another office where the door is open.  _ Dr Sonia Fowler,  _ the nameplate on the wall reads,  _ Psychiatry Department. _

“Make yourself at home, Callum,” she says, closing the door behind her. Her office is bright and cheerful, calming tones on the walls and furniture but with pops of colour along everything — pictures of people in frames, a thumbtack with nametags on lanyards from what looks like past conferences, a vase of multicoloured wildflowers on a corner of the desk. Callum feels at ease immediately.

“I apologise that I wasn’t able to be in your final interview before you were hired, but your marks were so glowing from the committee that I had no doubt you were the right fit for our group therapy leader.” 

Callum smiles, the compliment unexpected but welcome. “Cheers. I really appreciate it.”

Sonia puts a pair of reading glasses on, opening a folder on the desk and taking out a sheet of paper that Callum recognises as his CV. “I wanted to take some time this morning to get to know you a bit better. Tell me a little bit about yourself.”

It’s an innocent question, one heard on literally every job interview. But it’s a question that always makes him pause. Where does he start? His rough childhood, the horrors from the army, the time after where things finally started making sense, or how he let his guard down and it was all taken away? His twenty-nine years have felt like a hundred lifetimes crammed into one.

“Callum?”

“Um, sorry,” he shakes his head a bit to clear his mind, breaks the maudlin train of thought he found himself spiraling into. “A bit about myself. I’m from here, London, born and raised. I have an older brother. I was in the army for a bit, and when I got out I wanted a career where I could help others. I started training to join the police and eventually was hired in Hackney, not far from where I was living at the time.”

Callum pauses here. Sonia has leaned forward on to her elbows, reading glasses hanging from her fingers and interest piqued. He assumes this probably isn’t a normal story for her to hear — army turned copper turned therapist. 

“But it turned out being in the police wasn’t how I could help people. I was still seeing my army therapist at the time and when I expressed this to him, he encouraged me to look into taking courses in counselling. There, I really found my niche.”

Sonia smiles at him then, leaning back and clearly pleased. Callum feels his cheeks pink at her reaction and he smiles back, tentatively. “I was doing some work experience during the day with a colleague of my therapist, and then working full nights with the police.”

“Sounds stressful,” Sonia cuts in, and Callum nods.

“It was a long six months of little to no sleep,” Callum says, chuckling good-naturedly. “Eventually when I finished my studies I was able to leave the police and work fully for the hospital, under the mentorship of my own therapist. That’s where I’ve been for the last few years.”

Sonia is still smiling as she slides her glasses back on and looks down at Callum’s CV. “So, what’s brought you to Walford then?”

Callum feels his heart rate pick up, sweat gathering in his palms. He looks down at his hands in his lap, staring at the long lines of his fingers perpendicular to each other, crossed over and under. He didn’t elaborate in his original interview for the job, and has only said it out loud a few times. 

But when Callum looks up into Sonia’s eyes, they look kind and caring, and he wants to tell her. He takes a deep breath, feeling his chest expand, and lets it out slowly.

“My husband died a year and a half ago.”


	3. staring at the sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title and lyrics lifted from ["sleep apnea" by beach fossils.](https://open.spotify.com/track/34LohAliZ2QKydqVJcFpwV?si=krFdSlJMQj-PpuMI0yeuaw)

_sometimes i no longer know what it means_

_to care about the things you want to do_

_everybody’s living or they're dead_

_and i’m still in my bed and i don’t have a clue_

  
  
  
  


“Why do you think you’re here?”

The room is so quiet that Ben feels like all his senses are sharpened. There’s a clock in here, somewhere — Ben can’t see it but even with his dimmed hearing he can feel the second hand crawling around the face like the final seconds of a live explosive. There’s a gardener outside, the sound of a far-off lawnmower in the distance, and Ben has a moment of pity for whoever’s outside working in this glaring and relentless August summer heat.

“Ben?” His therapist tips her head in a question.

“Dunno why I’m here, honestly, I probably shouldn’t be.” Ben leans forward in his seat. “Aren’t people supposed to be ready for therapy, ready to face their problems or change their life or somethin’? There’s no point to counselling, not for me, sorry Doc, no offense.” 

Dr Fox ignores him. “Do you think you have problems?”

God, answering with a question. That is such a therapist move. 

Ben makes eye contact with her for the first time since he'd introduced himself a half hour ago and heaves a sigh. This was the third therapist in two years, and she was well on to being added to the mile-long list of failed relationships in Ben’s life. She was nice enough, they were always nice enough — but it never ended up being worth Ben’s time in the end.

“I’m here because my brother thinks I should be, and then when he starts running his mouth about it so does my mate — who’s also the mother of my kid, I don’t think I mentioned that — then they always set off my mum, and then my other brother, and then before you know it I’m peer pressured into making an appointment that I don’t want and don’t think I need. Is that the answer you were looking for?” 

Dr Fox shrugs noncommittally. “It’s interesting you think there’s no point to counselling and yet here you are.”

“I told ya, just to appease my family.”

Dr Fox nods a few times, then holds Ben’s gaze. He expects her to say something and after at least a full thirty seconds of silence, Ben can’t take it anymore.

“I just… I don’t understand why they’re always so insistent I see someone. I’m fine, life’s fine, work’s fine, I don’t want to talk about anything right now.” He’s picking at loose threads from the armchair, jiggling his foot. 

Dr Fox nods again. “We don’t have to talk.”

He laughs a little. “So what is this, then? I pay you for an hour of sitting in silence?”

“Fifty minutes, actually,” Dr Fox clarifies. Ben laughs out loud and his therapist hides an impish smile.

“Listen Ben, I understand the hesitation. There’s a stigma around mental health issues, but there doesn’t have to be. Small problems or traumatic events or everything in between, we could all do with a little back and forth with someone who isn’t involved in our lives, if for nothing else than just to act as an impartial sounding board.”

In spite of himself, Ben has to admit none of the other counsellors had ever been this blunt before. She made it seem okay to be wary, okay that he wasn’t really on board with this right now, okay that he wasn’t sure what to say. For some reason, Ben felt more calm. 

“Let’s say I do stay. What kind of things am I ‘sposed to tell ya?” 

“There’s not a right or wrong answer. We can talk about your week, how things are going at home, whatever’s on your mind.” Dr Fox holds a blank notepad in her lap with manicured nails, pen clipped to the pages, but her gaze is focused on Ben. “Or, we can start at the beginning.” 

Ben looks up at Dr Fox, and really notices her for the first time. Her bright yellow blouse against her dark skin, face open and friendly, framed by a curtain of fringe and straight black hair. The gardener outside must be gone now, Ben still hears the faint ticking of the hidden clock but it’s somehow faded to the background. Through the cracked curtains in the room, Ben can see the summer sun outside, no sign of setting any time soon. 

“I lost most of my hearing in my left ear as a baby, so I wear a hearing aid now. My stepmother tried to kill me when I was a kid. My mum faked her death and left me. I had my own kid, which I was in no way ready for but ended up being the best thing that could’ve ever happened. I came out and my dad nearly disowned me. I fell in love with someone incredible and thought for once in my life, things had worked out and the bullshit was all finally over. Then he got murdered.” 

Ben says it all in a rush, ticking life events off on his fingers like bullet points in a presentation. 

Dr Fox looks at him for a long time. She sees Ben picking at the edge of the armchair again, his leg moving restlessly. She waits until he can't take the silence anymore, looking at her expectantly. 

She uncaps her pen and begins to write. 

  
  
  
  


By the time Ben starts his short walk home from Dr Fox’s office, the sun has begun to sit low in the sky. The end of summer is nearing, and it means shorter days and weather that will eventually chill. But it’s still August and not near cold enough for a coat, so he puts the business card Dr Fox gave him into his back pocket, swapping it with his phone.

He sees a notification that he’s got four texts from his Dad, so he swipes open his screen to read them. 

_Can you meet me at the caff now?_

_Heard of a job coming up, could be good_

_Where are you??_

_You ain’t interested?_

Ben taps his Dad’s contact, pressing the icon for _Call._

“I thought you’d gone and died or somethin’,” Phil answers with a gruff voice, in lieu of a normal greeting.

“Met up with a mate,” Ben lies, easily, “What the hell is going on that you texted me four times in an hour?”

“I’m on the other line. Be at the Vic by eight, we’ll speak there.”

Without waiting for Ben’s response, the line goes dead. It hadn’t been a long walk to get home so by the time he’s looking at his now darkened mobile, he’s already reached the front door. When he reaches for the knob, it turns on its own.

“Daddy!” Lexi exclaims in surprise, throwing herself across the threshold and at Ben’s chest, long blonde locks flowing behind her.

“Oof!” Ben grunts, laughing as he picks up his daughter. “All right, princess? Where you off to?”

“Bleedin’ boiling hot in there and this one is bouncing off the walls so we’re going to the park,” Lola says from behind Lexi. She’s got a backpack over her shoulder Ben knows is packed with snacks, Lexi’s windbreaker, a jumprope, and no less than five dolls. “What’ve you got planned? D’you wanna come?”

Ben checks his watch, Lexi tightening her grip on his shoulders. “Come with us, Daddy!”

He laughs again, seeing he has plenty of time before he’s got to meet Phil. “Sounds like a plan,” he says, dropping Lexi back on her feet and taking her hand. Lola takes her other outstretched hand and smiling, leads the way to the park.

  
  
  


The Queen Victoria is slower than usual, it being a Tuesday evening. A football match is playing on a telly in the back corner, a handful of punters seated at the bar pointed towards it and shouting intermittently. Ben pushes the door open and a particularly loud shout nearly knocks him over on his arse.

_“Are you kiddin’ me with that call, he don’t need no bleedin’ penalty kick, get your eyes checked!”_

“Fuck’s sake,” Ben mutters, covering the ear pointed towards the crowd. He turns his head in the other direction, looking for his dad.

“Over here,” he hears Phil call, thankfully on the other side of the pub from the football cheering section. 

Ben slides into the booth opposite Phil. “Like the bloody World Cup over there,” he comments, jerking his thumb at the crowd.

“It’s West Ham at Chelsea, and West Ham’s lost seven games in a row so the boys are itching for a win. They’ve got one goal already and it’s near the end so if they can hold them off the rest of the time, West Ham can go home with some dignity for once in a long while,” Phil says it all in one bored-sounding breath, then takes a sizable chug of orange juice from his glass. 

Ben stares at his dad a while before he raises his eyebrows and shakes his head. “Right, I didn’t understand a word of that. What did you want to talk to me about?”

Phil wipes his mouth and leans in, getting down to business immediately. “I’ve got a mate in Croydon pulling off a big job and he needs a place to store the goods for a while so he can lay low. I’ve offered up the Arches and you’re going to be there to get the delivery.”

Linda appears around the corner and sets a pint glass down on the table, stacked on top of a cardboard coaster. Ben nods his thank you at her, and waits to respond to Phil until she’s clear out of earshot.

“What kind of goods?”

“This and that,” Phil waves a hand dismissively at Ben. “It ain’t important. He’ll be arriving next Friday night, early Saturday morning. Three-a.m. I promised Sharon we could go away for the weekend before I knew it’d be that date so it’s got to be you.”

Ben sighs into his pint glass, taking a drink of it and leaning back against the seat. Ever since he’d come back, his dad had been up to the same attitude of either begrudgingly involving him in jobs or ordering him around like Ben was some kind of thick-headed idiot who didn’t know right from left. Ben had ignored it at first, just glad to be back in the fray with Phil and a part of something. But the longer it went on, the thinner and thinner Ben’s patience waned.

“Got non-refundable tickets or something?” Ben says sarcastically, “What if I ain’t planning to be here neither?” 

“Well, are you?”

 _Shit,_ Ben thinks to himself. Led into that argument wrong. “No, but —”

“Good, then it ain’t an issue.” 

Phil’s voice drops in both volume and tone, the same way he’d talk to Louise when she’d ask to extend her curfew or a younger Ben when he’d get into a row with his brother Ian and Phil had had enough. It meant no more arguing, conversation’s over, _end of discussion._

Ben feels something inside him shut down from the bottom up, a gradual relinquish of power one atom at a time. It happens quickly, like second nature. Ben stands and downs the rest of his pint in two quick drinks, setting the glass back down on the table none-too-gently. 

“Fine. Text me the details then. I’m leaving.”

Phil sighs and holds his hand out. “Ben, you ain’t got to rush off —”

“Bye Dad,” Ben says, pushing out of the pub’s doors and not looking back.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


When Ben makes it through the front door at Ian’s, there’s a dull throb between his eyes. Massaging the bridge of his nose, he forces himself to walk up the stairs to his room, feet leaden and body tired. Opening the door to his bedroom, he closes it and leans up against it, sighing.

Something persistent pulls at the back of his mind. It’s an odd, foreboding feeling, something unsatisfying, like an itch he can’t scratch. It’s been simmering all night, from the moment he read Phil’s texts through their conversation in the Vic and all on the walk home. 

Ben shakes his head, tries to physically dislodge the feeling from his brain. He gets his shirt off and tosses it on a small armchair in the corner of his room, kicks off his trainers and tugs down his jeans. A small white card flutters out from the back pocket as he turns them over, and Ben picks it up off the ground.

Dr Fox’s business card, slightly crumpled at the edges but still intact. It’s embossed in gold with the clinic’s logo and looks professional. Ben thinks of chucking it in the tiny round bin next to the armchair, even walks across the room to do it, jeans still in his opposite hand.

But when he stares down at her name, _Dr Denise Fox, PsyD,_ in tiny black letters above her address and telephone number. _Tues 3 Sep - 5:15pm_ is written in green ink pen underneath it, underlined. At the end of his session, Ben had let her begrudgingly schedule him for a second appointment next week, fully intending to blow it off. Dr Fox had pressed the card into his hand as she shook it before Ben left her office.

_I hope you’ll come back, Ben, but if you choose not to, I’ll understand. One-on-one can be a little bit much to jump right into. However, there’s a group that meets a couple times a week across town at another clinic that you might find valuable, too. I’ve written the information on the back of my card._

Ben turns over the card and sees the green ink again, an address and _Tues/Thurs group meetings - 6pm_ written carefully. 

Hovering over the bin, Ben keeps staring at the card, the persistent tug at the back of his mind again.

He crosses the room finally, opening his sock drawer and stuffing the card against the side of it. It can stay there for now.


	4. traveling through infinity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title and lyrics lifted from ["in another life" by active child.](https://open.spotify.com/track/1RRWApZZgsnHf9jYKt4C7S?si=BYYpRHQIQZ2bsGDSMOgfDw)

_turn your head around_

_realize a life so profound_

_all around us, something bigger_

_it surrounds us_

_in another life_

  
  
  
  
  


Callum sets the houseplant Stuart and Rainie gave to him for good luck down on his new desk. Sonia had let him in to his office first thing that morning, handing over the keys with a smile on her face and Callum accepted them gratefully. It felt like a new chapter was starting, for real this time, the press of the cold metal keys in his palm grounding as he pushed open the office door.

It was modest in here, cream walls and a chocolate brown carpet, two armchairs opposite an overstuffed hunter green couch. The small, white desk with a tiny lamp on it was in the corner of the room, adjacent to a window overlooking the square. Callum could already see the possibilities for the place — a few pieces on the walls to add colour and personality, some throw pillows and a bookshelf. 

He closed the door behind him and fell onto the couch. It was small, but it was all his.

A vibration from his cell phone on his desk breaks the silence. He climbs out of the cushions and retrieves it.

_fancy a drink tonight?_

It’s the first text from a contact labeled _Ben Mitchell._ Callum smiles at the screen.

_Where’d you have in mind?_

Callum scrolls around on Instagram for a bit, checks his personal email on his phone, waiting around a little for Ben’s reply. When it doesn’t come after ten minutes he realises he’s actually supposed to be working and gets off the couch, stretching his arms high above his head, pocketing his cell phone again in his jeans. 

He spends the morning tooling around his new office, smacking together dusty throw pillows out in the hallway and tracking down a hoover from a broom cupboard to clean the carpets. He sprays bright blue, pungent liquid on his windows, wiping them down with a rough paper towel and dragging a water-damp rag over all the surfaces to finish up. When he’s done, everything gleams a tad brighter, sunshine from the window catching on the cup of pens and pencils at the corner of his desk.

Callum steps to the front of the room, looking around the office appreciatively. His eyes land on Stuart and Rainie’s plant, and he picks it up off the desk and puts it on the small side table adjacent to the couch. The round, bright green leaves add a touch of life in the room and he makes a mental note to water it. 

As if on cue, his stomach rumbles and cramps. Groaning and placing his hand on it, he glances at his watch. He’d been cleaning for three hours and it was already past noon. His stomach growls again, like it knows he’s looking at the time.

“All right, all right,” Callum mumbles, grabbing his keys off the desk and leaving the office. The watering would have to wait.

  
  
  
  


“Ham and mustard, toasted with the crusts cut off for Callum!”

A harried-looking blonde woman in an apron shouts out the front door of the local cafe, white paper package in her hand. Callum looks up from his phone and rushes over, doing his best to ignore looks from customers around him as they judge his sarnie order.

“Cheers, sorry, it was a bit crowded so I just waited outside —” 

“Uh-huh!” The woman shouts and waves her hand, elbowing her way back in past patrons lined up for takeaway lunch orders. He’d ordered crisps too, but he doesn’t have the heart to go back in and bother her.

Callum nibbles his sandwich as he walks around the square, taking in the sights. There’s a bustling market with stalls selling everything from fresh fruit to fashion. Street food is getting fried up on grills next to stalls with buckets of colourful flowers. It feels busy and bustling, and Callum takes it all in. _This is home now,_ he thinks to himself. 

He gets to the end of his sandwich as he turns a corner, a convenience store on his left. Callum tosses his wrapper in the bin as he walks in the shop, ducking his head below the short frame of the door.

He’s browsing the crisp aisle when his phone pings in his pocket. It’s from Ben, a photo message of a neon sign. There’s no words other than _8pm?_ , and Callum stares at the photo trying to decipher it. It’s just an outline of what looks like a bright red gem lit up against a light-coloured brick wall. He furrows his eyebrows, but something makes the corner of his mouth tick up in the slightest.

_Am I meant to know where this is?_ Callum types back. _You’re aware I just moved here and will be lucky if I don’t get lost on my way home from work, right?_

“If you’re going to stand in front of the crisps, can you pass me the cheese and onions?” 

A voice over Callum’s shoulder makes him turn around, breaking tunnel vision yet again with his phone. “Sorry,” Callum says, reaching for the bag and handing them over, “Sorry, wasn’t paying attention.”

“Obviously,” the woman says, but she’s smiling. She’s shorter than him, platinum hair pulled back in a ponytail and a shockingly bright highlighter-green top. Her thick gold earrings shake when she nods at him, holding up the crisps in her hand. “Thanks.”

“Um —” Callum starts and she turns back around. Cheeky remark aside, something about her is friendly, and he holds his phone up. “I hope this isn’t too weird or anything but I just moved here and I’m meant to meet someone later. They sent me this photo, but I’ve got no idea where this is. Do you?”

Callum unlocks his screen and opens up the photo to full-screen, tilting it towards her. She peers down at it for a second before she smiles. “Yeah, that’s Ruby’s. Just down the road and next to E20. You can’t miss it.”

“ _Ruby’s_ , that explains the big gem,” Callum says, laughing. “Thanks so much.”

“It’s all right,” she answers. “I’m Lola, by the way.” She puts her hand out and Callum shakes it gratefully.

“Callum.”

  
  
  
  


After lunch, Callum stops by the flat for some personal items to take back to his office. He empties out a carton and puts everything inside — his framed degree, another plant he picked up in the square his first day in Walford, some textbooks from his courses. His room still looks dreadfully empty and he thinks of all the things he sold and donated to charity shops from his old flat. Fluffy, oversized pillows he’d take Sunday afternoon naps on before Chris would join him on the couch, order delivery and marathon something on Netflix without a care in the world. Dumb, cheap knick knacks they’d find at squares like the one in Walford, mementos of someone else’s pasts that became their presents. He thinks of their knick knacks in someone else’s lounges now, spread out across England like seeds blown off a dandelion. 

Something heavy claws at his heart, desperate. It wraps tendrils around his chest and pulls, until Callum has to turn away from his unpacked cartons on the floor and shut the light off hastily on his way out of the room. He takes satisfaction in the click of the door behind him when he leaves.

  
  
  
  


“Your meeting room will be here,” Sonia tells him when he goes back to work. She points into a large meeting room, impressively large windows looking out over the garden. She’d taken Callum down several hallways and turns getting here but he looks through the glass and sees this view is facing the same one as his office. “Tuesdays and Thursdays at six.”

Callum holds the door open for Sonia when she gets it unlocked, and they both stride in. There’s stacks of chairs against the wall, those metal folded ones with chipped black rubber stoppers on the feet, a dry erase board against the wall with ghosts of faded markings on it. 

“We haven’t had group therapy in a long time,” Sonia says, seeing Callum eyeing the state of the room. “Our last facilitator left three or so years ago and then the budget was cut and we’ve been trying to recover ever since then.” 

Callum feels bad that he maybe let his reaction show too much on his face, so he assures her quickly. “It’s fine, Sonia, I know what budgets are like for mental health programs… I get it.” 

Sonia nods and smiles, gestures around to the empty space. “Well, it’s all yours now.” She places the keys in his palm and says her goodbyes. “I’ll leave you to it.”

When he’s alone, Callum looks around the room and feels like he did when he saw his empty office. The possibilities are there, but it feels bigger now, imagining the chairs in a circle, people pouring their hearts out to him. Callum thought of himself with his own therapist back in Islington and how long it took him to be pried open, centimetre by centimetre and fighting the process at nearly every goal they set. Quite suddenly, he feels wholly underprepared and unqualified, an imposter trying to do something he could never be capable of. 

Defeated, Callum drops his entire body weight into a lone chair unfolded in the middle of the room, back hunched and elbows on his knees. He should’ve stayed on the police and wrote parking tickets and minded his own business until retirement.

 _Don’t be stupid._ He can hear Chris’ voice clearly, together on their overstuffed couch in their homey flat. He’d just told him he wanted to leave the police, give up his secure job and his training and the last two years of his life to start over to train as a therapist. Callum had worried about Chris’ reaction — he made a decent living as a sous chef at a posh restaurant but it was very much a two income household and without one of those two incomes there would have to be changes, in more ways than financially. 

But Chris had asked all the right questions. Why was Callum unsatisfied on the police, what made him want to try being a therapist, did he think there might be similar struggles there, too? Callum didn’t have all the answers, but he was honest with him. _I thought I’d put on a uniform and be a part of something, a team of people all there for the same reasons, trying to make things safe for people, good for them and their families. But we’re not out there making it better. We’re making it worse._

He’d felt helpless admitting it out loud, that problems existed so far deep into the DNA of an institution that Callum didn’t see a future for himself there anymore. It wasn’t what he’d anticipated, but more than that, it no longer was something he felt good about being a part of. He didn’t feel like himself anymore, not sure he ever did if he was being honest with himself. Callum felt like a fraud.

Chris had drawn Callum close, leaned back on their couch with Callum’s head on his chest and his arms strung around his shoulders. He’d pressed his lips to Callum’s hair and talked low about Callum’s good heart, his patience and kindness, the reasons he loved him. _Don’t be stupid. You can’t have all this passion for helping others and waste it in a career that doesn’t fit you. You’re going to make such a good therapist. You’ll be good at anything you put your mind to._

Sitting on the folding chair in the middle of the empty room, Callum doesn’t realize his cheeks are wet until he feels the tears drop off his chin and into his lap. He’s not ashamed to cry — on the contrary, he and his own therapist worked a long time for that breakthrough after the army — so he sits with it a while. Taking a final deep breath after several minutes, Callum inelegantly lifts up the collar of his t-shirt and runs it across his face. 

He thinks of Chris, wherever he is now, and hopes he’s proud. 


	5. sea so blue

_i never know what to say to you_

_and i don't know if i'll ever get through_

_lord, though our rope will sink back to me_

_my idleness is hungry_

  
  
  
  
  


Lola was working late and he’d tucked Lexi into bed just as she got home, a hurried kiss to her flushed cheek as he rushed out to Ruby’s. It was such a short distance to walk that he had time to nip to the gents before ordering two pints and finding a small table at the back of the crowded club.

It’s bustling and crowded, but when he arrives, Callum’s height gives Ben a direct line of sight. He spots Ben and makes his way slowly towards him, blue eyes bright and cheeks splotched with red, likely from hurrying over in the dissipated summer heat. It’s warm enough that he’s just got on a white button up with no jacket, sleeves rolled up above the wrists and gray jeans. His clothes hug the curves of his shoulders, his hips and thighs, and Ben looks at him appreciatively as he makes his way across the bar. He remembers the way they moved in harmony the last time they were together, pressed against his mattress and surrounded but nothing but bedclothes. Ben’s mouth starts to feel dry and he takes a healthy swig from his glass just before Callum gets to their table.

“Hey,” Callum says when he makes his way past the throng of people. “Sorry I’m late, I got lost.”

“If you’re living with Stuart, doesn’t that mean you’re above the parlour? Ain’t that about a hundred paces from here?” Ben teases. 

“I know, but you’re lucky I’m here at all. You didn’t give me much to work with in just a photo.”

“I certainly am lucky,” Ben fires back quickly. Callum huffs a chuckle but doesn’t break from Ben’s gaze, who just sips from his pint glass and smirks. Ben points across the table, identical (but full) pint glass across from him. “Got you a lager.”

  
  
  
  


Within a couple hours, Ben is certain Callum has been lying to him this entire time.

“There’s no way you’ve never been to Walford and didn’t know all these people already,” Ben exclaims at one point, after he and Callum had just had a twenty minute conversation with a stranger next to a speaker near the dancefloor, a very petite and impressionable young girl who laid out her whole life story before having a revelation that she still had residual anger at her parents about her childhood, embracing Callum as she cried in relief. 

“Thank you so much Callum,” she’d professed wetly through tears, “You’re so easy to talk to. You helped me really realise so much. I can’t believe I’m blubbering with some guy I just met,” she’d laughed and Callum had just smiled, putting a hand on her arm.

“I’m glad I could help you, Sarah,” he’d said gently. “Family is really important and although sometimes it’s hard, it’s about having open communication, right?”

Sarah had nodded her head in agreement, fresh tears welling in her eyes. “Right, so right,” she’d said before making her exit. Callum takes a sip from his third lager, and glances over at Ben.

“What?” He says, Ben’s eyes wide with disbelief. 

“‘ _What?_ ’” Ben parrots, rather mocking Callum's innocent tone. “What in the fuck is that? How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

Ben gestures a hand up, mimes between Callum and Sarah across the room, talking excitedly to another girl as she glances over at the pair of them. “That!”

Callum laughs. He looks a little uncomfortable, runs his free hand through the short hairs above his ear. “I don’t know, I just,” Callum waves a hand around, dismissively. “I don’t know, talk to them. It’s not that big of a deal.”

It is that big of a deal, because Ben can’t seem to go two minutes in a conversation without inadvertently insulting or offending the other person in some way or letting the banter die a fiery, silent death after several minutes of awkward and clearly fake pleasantries. Callum talks to people like he’s known them his whole life and the funny part is, everyone at the bar he’s spoken with clearly feels the same way, too. _I feel like I know you,_ they’d said in those exact words or something like it — The guy at the bar as he and Callum were ordering drinks, the girl who clearly had had too much to drink, Callum helping her stand on her own two feet in the hallway, even Ruby herself as she came out to their table to meet him when Ben waved at her. 

As if on cue, he hears two voices exclaim from across the bar, rushing towards them.

“Ben!” It’s Jay’s voice, loud and boisterous, followed by “The crisps guy!” from Lola, close behind.

Callum whips his head around and Ben furrows his eyebrows in confusion.

“Lola?” Callum asks incredulously. He stands and she hugs him, Ben and Jay looking on, completely lost.

“ _Crisps guy?_ ” Ben asks.

Lola’s grinning, she jabs a manicured nail into Callum’s arm, “I saw him in the shop earlier, he was blocking the crisps and staring at his phone trying to decode a picture text he’d got from somebody, which I’m now understanding was…”

Her eyes trail to Ben, and his face heats instantly in embarrassment, his first instinct to play it off, “Oh, that was just —” he starts, but Lola doesn’t let him finish. 

“Come off it, it was cute,” Lola shouts over the music and waves her hand. Ben huffs, not sure it being _cute_ makes it any better, “Anyway, Jay and I are going to get a drink and we’ll join you for a bit, we’ll be right back.”

As quick as they’d shown up they’re gone again, back across the bar. Callum and Ben sit back down and Ben shrugs in apology. “Sorry, I didn’t know they’d be here, I hope you don’t mind if —”

Callum’s already shaking his head. “I’m fine. Are you okay with it?” 

_No,_ Ben wants to say, _I had plans to have you to myself all night, drink until we’re both barely able to stand and then take you back to mine to do things that don’t require any standing at all —_

But Ben, as usual, doesn’t know how to explain in more words what he means without sounding jealous or rude or irritated or some other unidentifiable-but-generally-negative emotion. And for what? It’s not like he owns Callum’s time and every sentence he tries to put together in his head to justify what he’s feeling sounds pointless and childish.

Defeated, he looks over at Sarah, watching as she waves to Callum. 

The sudden, unexplained tug in Ben’s chest actually makes him gasp a little. He feels his heart unconsciously start to race when he looks at Sarah’s friendly smile, recognizes the 45-degree angle she tilts her head at as she tucks a strand of ginger-coloured hair behind her ear. He’d seen that look before, nameless guys in nameless bars that press fingers into his waistline and their lips to his ears, whispering generic lines into them. Ben feels his entire face flush and he starts to stand, Jay and Lola forgotten.

“Let’s get out of here.” 

He gets out of his chair, picking up his drink with one hand and holding Callum’s arm with the other, ignoring his confused face as he pulls him up. Callum follows him outside to the back patio, and if he’s protesting or asking questions, Ben can’t hear him over the pound of the music in the bar. It’s not any less crowded out here on a warm night but at least away from prying eyes that watch them curiously, no doubt gauging Callum’s interest in Ben and if they have a chance.

There’s a thickness to the air, heavy and humid and they find a ledge to lean against and set their drinks down on. Ben still has enough alcohol in his veins to keep the pleasant buzz under his skin, Callum’s eyes questioning but choosing not to say anything at the moment.

They’re quiet for a minute. Ben’s head is pounding, distantly thankful the music behind him is down to a dull roar behind the bar’s heavy back doors.

“You okay?” Callum asks, taking another pull from his drink and looking at Ben quizzically. 

“Yeah, sorry, I just…” Ben isn’t sure what he’s apologising for but he’s sure he did something by that point to make up for. “Sorry, it’s just kind of loud in there. And hot.”

“Yeah, it’s nice to get some quiet time,” Callum says.

“Are you always so agreeable?” Ben asks after a beat. He regrets it immediately and actually winces once he says it. He tries not to meet Callum’s eyes.

Callum just grins. “You like disagreements, then?”

Ben huffs a laugh, surprised at the sharp response, even if it was laced in teasing. “It’s not that, I guess they just seem to find me sometimes.”

“What do you mean?” Callum asks, turning his body on the railing to lean on his elbow, looking at Ben curiously.

Ben suddenly feels very centred on. His throat closes up a little, and he doesn’t turn to meet Callum’s gaze. What the hell is wrong with him? He tries to shake it off, coughing into his glass before he takes another hearty mouthful. “Uh, I don’t really know what I mean.”

Callum doesn’t say anything, just sips from his cooled pint glass as his eyes wander to the darkened street beyond the barriers of the bar. Callum lets the silence drag on so long Ben can’t take it.

“This,” Ben says finally. “How do you do this?”

“Do what?” Callum asks again. He looks distracted, and Ben watches him push a stray dark hair away from his eyes in the slight breeze, taking another pull of beer.

“You really are so easy to talk to,” Ben says, tone almost wondrous. “I don’t open up to anybody. I almost walked right into your trap of conversational wizardry.”

Callum barks out a laugh and looks up at Ben again. “I’m not trying to trap you, Ben. I just listen to people and speak to them. The way I’d want to be spoken to. Plain and simple.” 

Familiar sarcastic and pessimistic remarks sit at the edge of Ben’s tongue and his chest inexplicably fills with the overwhelming urge to fight them off the best he can. _What_ is wrong with him, fuck’s sake. It’s an odd, conflicting feeling he’s not used to. 

“I don’t… _like_ disagreeing,” Ben says after a long while of staring into the heavy night, trying to convince Callum or himself, he’s not quite sure at this point. 

“I don't think you do.” Callum answers soft, but matter-of-factly. 

Ben feels a heartbeat pattern ticking out against his fingertips. It presses against the empty glass he clutches, _thump-thump, thump-thump_ in time with his breathing. The fuzzy feeling he has from the alcohol is draining away rapidly, being replaced by a warm breeze rustling through the trees that line the square. 

“Another drink?” Callum asks, gesturing at Ben’s glass with his own empty one. Ben nods. “Let's go in.”

But then Lola bursts through the door, platinum blonde hair flying behind her, somehow already tipsy even though they’ve been here less than a half hour. “Here you both are. Let's go out!” 

Ben and Callum just look at each other and laugh. 

  
  
  
  


The four of them make their way down the road to a little bar in the basement of an office building they have to climb down two flights of narrow, winding stairs to get to. “Well, I'm _definitely_ going to trip up these later,” Callum promises, before almost falling right then and there. Ben reflexively makes a grab for his arm. “Thanks.”

Ben just drops his arm mutely, avoiding Callum’s searching eyes as they arrive at the ground floor. Callum turns away, grabbing onto the side of a table to reserve for them. 

“I’ll get first round,” Jay announces as he tosses his scarf and coat on his chair. Lola nods and joins him, laying her own things down on the chair next to Jay’s, the only empty seat left next to Callum.

Ben pours himself into the chair and puts his head in his hands when he gets the spins again. He’d taken a few shots out of nerves before he’d even got to Ruby’s, and there’s a throbbing against his temples, a warm wave washing over his face repeatedly. He sees little white dots behind his eyelids and tries in vain to focus in on them. 

“Alright?” He hears Callum’s voice ask, as he peeks out from under his arm to see Callum playing on his phone.

“Fine, just feel like my head’s about to explode,” he replies pathetically.

“My mum used to do this for me when I had a headache. Supposedly it hits a pressure point or something,” Callum says, putting down his phone and taking Ben’s left hand in one swift motion. Ben’s head pops up, looking at Callum’s lithe hands as they gently pull his arm across the table, then grasp his hand again.

Ben can’t seem to look away as Callum’s fingers massage into his skin, squeezing the gap between the joints in his thumb and index finger in rhythmic and calming circular motions. Ben might say it’s companionable silence they’re sitting in, but really, he has no idea what to say. Two days ago this guy was pressing Ben up against his bedroom door and kissing him like he needed it to breathe, and now the same hands that brought him to the best climax he’s had in a long time hold him like he’s something fragile and soft, something to treasure. Ben feels the warmth rise in his cheeks, and he’s got a sinking feeling in his stomach that it’s not just the alcohol.

It’s a full sixty seconds before Callum slows to a stop. Ben shakes his head, tries to dislodge his trail of thoughts.

Callum looks up, eyes friendly. “Any better?”

Ben nods stiffly, makes an affirmative noise, and there's moment where Callum isn’t moving his fingers anymore and Ben hasn’t pulled his hand away fully and Ben tries to ignore the fact that his headache is actually almost completely gone, _what the fuck_. He pulls his eyes away and gently tucks his hand into his coat pocket, mumbling his thanks as Callum smiles sweetly and picks his phone up again like nothing is at all awkward about this situation. 

As he's learning was the norm between them, Ben is left again to stare at the space around Callum and wonder what just happened. Luckily, before he has a chance to think too deep into it again, Jay and Lola return, a pint in each of their hands. 

“Drinks!” Lola announces, a little splashing out against the table when she sets them down. Giggling, she grabs a glass and taps it against all of them, Ben meeting it. 

“Drinks,” he agrees, figuring that since the first headache’s gone he might as well start working on another one.

  
  
  
  
  


By two-a.m. he’s lost count about whose round they're on. He thought Callum’s, but either Jay or Lola offered to buy Ben’s round because they owed him and then either Callum or Lola bought two rounds just for fun, or that might’ve been Jay —

“My turn!” Callum stands up too quick, alcohol making him far too confident, knocking over his stool as the other three dissolve into laughter. Lola lifting up the collar of her shirt and covering her face with it, Jay hides a grin behind his three empty pint glasses. 

“Oops,” Callum says belatedly. He rolls up his shirt sleeves and it takes him three tries to pick up the stool. “Join me?” He asks Ben once the stool is back on four legs.

“Um, sure,” Ben agrees, tearing his eyes away from Callum’s arms and draining the last of his pint.

The bar’s crowded, warm air thick with the smell of beer-soaked wood too enticing for people out on the hot summer pavement. It takes Ben and Callum a good 90 seconds to push through the crowd before they finally hit the counter, and another 60 before Callum can catch the barkeep’s eye.

“How’s work been this week?” Ben hears Callum ask over the din in the bar, music and voices echoing erratically off the walls.

“What’s that?” Ben strains. 

The server chooses that moment to show up again, impossibly juggling four pint glasses in two cramped hands, and Callum helps her unload them onto the bar. She sighs gratefully and tosses her blonde fringe out of her eyes. “Thanks.” 

Callum smiles at her and Ben stares at the side of his face, follows the line of his profile with his eyes and understands, suddenly. Callum’s just… nice. No one’s ever really _nice_ to Ben, they tolerate him, really, sometimes they love him because they have to, whether it’s because they’ve known him his whole life or they share a kid with him. But no one is ever nice to him without any stipulations attached, asking for nothing up front and nothing in return. Callum is kind without barriers or obstacles and it scares Ben. The unknown and the uncharted scares him.

“Work,” Callum repeats when the server leaves, pushing a glass towards Ben, who picks it up tentatively. “Last time we… Met up, you said you worked at a car lot…?” Callum trails off.

“Yeah, yes,” Ben scrambles, “The car lot. It’s…” _Just a job? A business he really cares about and wants to grow on his own? A front for his dad to run shady dealings out of while Ben keeps his mouth shut?_

“It’s…” Callum prompts. 

“Great,” Ben smiles, straight white teeth stretching into a grin, cheek dimpling. “It’s going great, business is doing good.” He tries not to think about why it feels harder to lie to Callum, practically a stranger. It usually comes so easy to his own family and friends.

“Good,” Callum smiles back, taking a drink. He doesn’t look away from Ben, bright blue eyes studying him carefully around the glass. “I started a new job this week.”

“Yeah?”

Callum nods, taking another pull from the glass. Ben doesn’t want to fall behind so he snatches his glass off the bar too, taking too big a gulp at once and having to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand when it threatens to dribble out.

Callum ignores him tactfully, but doesn’t stop the small smile creeping onto his face. “Yeah, back in Hackney, I —” 

_“Oi, where’s our pints?”_

Ben’s mid-drink and his eyes jump over to the table where Jay and Lola shout, looking impatient and far too red in the face. He shoots them a dirty look and turns back to hear the rest of what Callum started to say, but he’s already looking away, fishing a couple bills out of his wallet for the tab. Ben sees the corner of Callum’s mouth turn up, slightly hidden as he lays the money on the bar and takes the two full glasses meant for Jay and Lola in his hands. “Let’s get these back to them,” he suggests, climbing off the bar stool. 

  
  
  
  


As predicted, Callum trips up the stairs when they leave, Ben shoots his arm out again to catch him, Callum smiles at him, dazzling and beautiful and a little drunk, and Ben feels another pull in his stomach, it’s probably just from too much alcohol, whatever.

The group makes their way haphazardly back to their corner of Walford and separates at the darkened square, Jay and Lola waving their goodbyes as they head in the direction of Jay’s flat. Ben doesn’t miss their knowing glances and waggled eyebrows, baring his teeth at them and thanking his lucky stars Callum isn’t paying attention, checking the time on his phone.

Their first night together seemed so easy. Ben was attracted to him the second he saw Callum and sure, Ben will admit he felt something different before they kissed but… it didn’t matter. Ben was able to push that aside and not listen to it, put that feeling away in a box, shut tight, never to be reopened.

But now, something shifts inside Ben. It feels big and looming inside his chest, tentative trepidation pressing up against the underside of his ribs, a feeling he’d only had once before and never thought he’d have again. Never let himself believe he’d have again.

“Tired?” Callum’s voice brings him out, and he feels fingertips graze his chin fondly. It feels oddly right, a comforting gesture to Ben, a hint of warmth against the quickly-chilling air in the square’s dead of night. Callum’s smile is kind as he looks down at him, and Ben nods.

“Early day tomorrow,” he answers Callum. He fakes a yawn behind his fist and any plans Ben from the past had of bringing Callum back to his are well out the window now. His mind is everywhere but focused.

“Alright,” Callum chuckles. He slips his phone into the back pocket of his jeans and steps closer to Ben. “Thanks for inviting me. I had a good time.”

His voice’s dropped down, pitched deep in the space between them and Ben can’t look away. He just nods, offers a feeble apology. “Sorry the night got crashed,” he murmurs.

Callum’s smile hasn’t left his face, but he pairs it with another chuckle. “I like your friends.”

Ben’s hands move of their own accord, one fingertip at a time slowly curling into the edges of Callum’s white shirt. He feels warmth against his knuckles, Callum’s waist pressing into them through thin fabric. Ben’s eyes search Callum’s, heart beating against his sternum and an unexplained bolt of confidence coming out of nowhere.

“And me?” Ben challenges.

Callum lets his own hands drift up, lay claim to the sides of Ben’s face and wind slowly inward, gently touches their mouths together. Once, twice, the third time a little longer, Callum turning his head. Ben feels his breath get caught in his throat, his toes start to tingle in his boots and he lets out an embarrassing sigh when Callum pulls away slightly.

“I like you, too.” Callum says against Ben’s lips.

Ben opens his eyes again, forces the hazy filter away from his vision and this tiny bubble they’ve created for themselves. He unclasps his fingers, all at once, takes a small step back outside the space. He feels the chilled air instantly, tries to calm the wild in his eyes he know Callum must see.

“I had fun too,” he rushes on, and Callum’s hands fall from around his face as Ben backs away slightly. “I really do need to get home, though. I wasn’t kidding about my early day tomorrow.”

Callum looks a little confused but smiles at Ben again, tighter than before. “Okay. I’ll see you?”

Ben hears the rise at the end of the sentence, it’s a question that Callum looks to him to for an answer. Ben nods, the distance between them growing as he edges. One foot, one meter, two meters, “I’ll text you,” he says. He raises his hand and turns, walks as fast as he can to his front door and pushes it open. Ben considers slamming it when he gets in the house but thinks the better of it, Lexi and everyone else asleep just a floor above.

He closes the door behind him softly, leans his back against it, and sighs out loud.

“ _Fuck._ ”


	6. something of my own creation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title and lyrics lifted from ["fiction" by the xx.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GxYN8-HvL44)

_ last night the world was beneath us,  _

_ tonight comes, too long _

_ we'll be torn apart by the break of day _

_ you're more than i can believe _

_ would ever come my way _

On the morning of his first group session, Callum wakes with the sun. Or rather, he’s already awake with the sun. His eyes feel scratchy and dry, a night of hours spent in bed tossing and turning without much real actual sleep. He’d finally nodded off around four-a.m., after too many “what if” scenarios running through his head of how leading his first group could go wrong.

But also, too many back and forth texts with Ben and too many grins pressed into his pillow in his darkened bedroom.

It’d been an odd exchange when they parted after their night out with Jay and Lola, and truthfully Callum had gone home a little confused. But the next day was a busy day spent getting ready for the week ahead, and Ben had texted him in the morning like nothing was bothering him at all. No trace of awkwardness from the night before, just a photo of a tiny hand holding two battered DVD cases —  _ The Good Dinosaur  _ and  _ Mulan  _ — with a one-sentence caption of  _ i voted for the dino and lex said mulan, so you get to be the tiebreaker to decide what we’re watching over our breakfast this morning. _

Callum had grinned down at his phone screen and quickly typed out  _ Obviously Mulan, classic Disney wins over this new fangled Pixar stuff anytime soz Ben,  _ getting a thumbs up in response. An hour later Callum was making his own breakfast and got another picture message, Lexi knocked out against the arm of the couch, half-eaten toast and jam on a plate still in her lap.

_ mulan really kept her enthralled for all of about 10 mins mate i blame you _

It’d gone the rest of the day like that as Callum puttered around the flat all day, he’d sent Ben a photo of the lunch he’d made for him and Stu and Rainie, a new recipe for pasta and a creamy sauce with grilled chicken and sauteed veg — Ben would text him funny things Lexi was saying or drawings they made together, including one of an oversized dragon breathing fire onto a tiny, thatched-roof cottage.  _ she says next time i make her go to bed early she’s doing that to my face  _ captioned the photo and Callum burst out laughing at the dinner table.

“You been stuck to that phone all day,” Rainie had commented, twirling another strand of pasta around her fork. She lets the observation hang there and doesn’t follow up.

Callum only chuckled to himself, locking the phone and tucking it safely in his jean pocket.

He thinks of the past couple days spent like that and rolls over, his face pitching into the pillow. They hadn’t met up again, Ben had seemed as busy as Callum had been, but they’d kept up the texting. It felt comfortable like this, and that too confused Callum. He remembers in the army, meeting Chris and wanting to spend every possible second with him. It was reciprocal — they’d volunteer for the same chores together, the same duty nights, even managed to both get assigned to the kitchens together. When Callum would close his eyes under the high sails of the fabric tents they slept in, listening to them move in the warm desert breeze, it didn’t seem like enough time. He’d always feel, at the end of the day, like it wasn’t ever enough time with Chris.

With Ben, oddly, he feels like he has all the time in the world. 

  
  
  
  


He stops in at the caff again before walking out of the square to work, sipping his latte. Turning the corner, Callum glances up at the dark clouds brewing in the sky and is grateful he remembered to grab his umbrella before he’d left the flat that morning. 

When he arrives at the center, he scans his badge at the staff door and pushes in. Callum’s learned the names of a few of the other therapists and some of their assistants and he greets them, still smiles at the ones he doesn’t know well. When he turns into his corridor, he sees the office next to his is open.

“Morning, Ash,” he greets his neighbor, and she waves.

He’d met Ash Panesar his second day at the center, hearing her blasting music from her office when he couldn’t sleep and came in extra early around six-a.m. She’d had her back to the door, drumming along to a solo in the song on her desk with two rulers. Callum had shouted to be heard over her music, and scared her so badly she knocked over her coffee. She said she wasn’t used to anyone being here as early as her, they’d had a laugh, Callum bought her a coffee the next day to make up for it. They’d been friendly ever since.

“Callum! First group today. How are you feeling?” 

“Alright, I think. A little nervous, but mostly excited.”

“You’ll do fine. I’ve referred a lot of my patients to you tonight. Maybe you’ll have a full house.” 

She says it kindly and Callum feels his cheeks heat. The phone on her desk rings and he excuses himself, but he’s got a hidden smile on his face when he unlocks his office door.

Callum spends the morning in the meeting room like a nervous primary school teacher counting cubbies in their classroom. He raids the broom closet again and wipes down all the chairs with a wet rag, sweeps the cement floor around every piece of furniture and in every corner. After lunch he goes to the market stalls again, picking out a few more bright green potted plants to liven up the dreary meeting room. 

When 5:45 rolls around, he’s lost track of time, his nerves like live wires, and he jumps a mile when Sonia pokes her head in the room.

“Ready, Callum?” She asks, and sees the look on his face when he jumps. “Sorry!” 

“No matter, I was in my own world,” Callum says, hand on his chest to try and quiet the race of his heart.

“I just wanted to tell you I’m the last one here and I’m off. The receptionist in the lobby will stay until half past six and let in anyone coming for your group, but you have the keys to the building so make sure you lock up once you’re finished.”

Callum nods. “Got it.”

“Good luck, Callum,” Sonia says kindly. “I’m sure you’ll do wonderful.”

It sounds foreboding, but Callum’s positive he only takes it that way because of his nerves. Before he has a chance to worry much more about it, Sonia steps aside. 

“And I think this is your first guest.”

Callum looks up from where he’s placing the last chair in a wide circle, and sees a woman in her 20s with jet black hair look around the door frame tentatively.

“Is this the… The group?” She asks softly.

Sonia and Callum both nod and she steps gingerly over the threshold. Sonia gives Callum a thumbs up from behind the woman’s back and makes her way down the corridor.

“I’m Callum,” he introduces himself, extending his hand.

“Whitney,” the woman answers. She’s got on a plain navy blue jumper and light denim jeans, but a wrist of gold bangles jingles when she shakes Callum’s hand. Her blue eyes are wide, framed with black eyeliner and dark mascara, but she looks exhausted. There’s faint circles of violet under her eyes that avoid Callum as she sits down, clearly too many sleepless nights that’ve caught up to her.

Callum knows the look well. A week of overnight duty shifts in the army standing watch outside a tent in a deafeningly silent desert produces the same results.

He checks his watch,  _ 5:53 _ . “We’ll wait just a bit more until six and then we can get started,” he tells Whitney. She doesn’t respond and just takes her phone out of the purse slung around her shoulder. Callum swallows another nervous lump in his throat and hopes she’s not the only one who turns up.

Callum busies himself with gathering up a few papers on a clipboard, putting another plant on the windowsill overlooking the garden outside the building. The door opens again and a man strides into the room, a young woman with two plaits just behind him, Callum raising his eyes to meet them.

“Evening. Are you here for —”

“You Callum Highway?” The man asks him. The woman eyes him in annoyance and steps around him to sit in an empty chair in the circle. She takes out her phone and Callum sees she has hearing aids in her ears.

“Ah — Yes, are —”

“Then I’m in the right place.” He brushes past the woman on her phone and sits across from both her and Whitney, forming a triangle with three points. 

Callum sets his clipboard down on an empty chair and reaches to him first. “Callum,” he offers.

The man looks at him oddly. “Yeah, I got that,” he says, but unfolds his arms to reciprocate with his own hand. “Keegan.”

Callum shakes it firmly. Up close the guy looks younger, much younger than Callum realised when he walked in. His hair is cut into a fade, straight line across his forehead contrasting with the permanently furrowed ridge of his eyebrows. His eyes are full of doubt and shaded with anger, the clear expression of someone who is probably here not of their own volition. 

Callum moves on to the young woman with the plaits, and waves at her. She looks up in surprise. 

“Callum,” he says. He doesn’t know BSL fingerspelling so he waves again, hoping it will be enough for the moment. She widens her eyes but quickly drops the look to nod at him, shaking his hand. 

“Frankie. I’m deaf and wear hearing aids. Make sure you talk clearly.” 

She speaks matter-of-factly, drops his hand, and goes back to her phone. Callum nods but she doesn’t see him. 

A little rattled, he sits down in the chair where his clipboard lays, seeing the clock on the wall roll over to  _ 6:00. _

“Shall we get started?” Callum asks the group, not expecting an answer. Frankie looks skeptical. Keegan looks annoyed. Whitney doesn’t look at him at all. Callum clears his throat, stacks his pen on top of his clipboard, stacks them both on his lap. “If you could tell me a little bit about yourselves and why you’re here, that’d be great.”

There’s a brief silence met with zero eye contact, the classic  _ don’t look at the teacher and maybe he won’t call on you  _ playing out around Callum’s circle. He waits patiently, letting the silence drag on until Frankie sighs and rolls her eyes.

“Frankie. I’m twenty-five. My doctor wanted me to come here.”

Callum nods, feels like he can probably remember that brief introduction and doesn’t need to write anything down. “Thanks Frankie. Anyone else?”

“Keegan,” he says in a bored voice, “I’m nineteen. I’m here because apparently an hour of therapy a week isn’t good enough to satisfy my mum.” He folds his arms across his chest but looks over at Whitney, the last one left.

“Um, I’m Whitney. I’m twenty-six.” Whitney’s voice barely carries around the circle and Frankie looks beyond annoyed, furrowing her eyebrows at Whitney and straining to hear her. When Whitney finally raises her eyes, she sees Frankie’s face and Callum notices her realise the situation. “Whitney, twenty-six,” she says, a fraction louder. “I’m here because… Well, I’ve been out of therapy for a long time. I haven’t gone since I was in school, and that was only to the counselor there who wasn’t very good but at least she was something. I heard about this group starting and wanted to try it again.”

Callum’s soul is positively beaming from the inside, he wants to run across the circle and hug Whitney and thank her for being even just a fraction of positive energy that he can harness to help bring the group around. He keeps his neutral face on as best as he can though, nodding and offering her a smile.

“Thanks Whitney, everyone. It’s good to meet you all. Like Whitney said this is a new group, so I’m glad you’re all here to help me shape it into what it needs to be. This group is for you, an hour a week we can all get together and talk about what’s on our minds, judgement-free and without barriers.” 

Callum regards the three group members around him, who for the first time are actually all dialed in and looking at him. Keegan and Frankie still look skeptical, but at least they’re listening. He counts Whitney’s eye contact as a tick in the positive category, and keeps going.

“There’s some ground rules. Respect, for one. Don’t interrupt each other, be civil, be kind. We’re all here to talk but we’re here to listen, too. Most of all, discretion. What we talk about here is confidential, and nobody else’s business. Keep things shared in group, in group. Does that make sense and sound like something you could all agree to?”

Whitney nods right away, albeit a small nod. Frankie does as well, and Callum takes Keegan’s neutral glare of neither negative nor positive as a reluctant agreement.

“Good, I’m glad. Well, we can —”

“Well, who are you?” Frankie cuts in. “We all said who we were, let’s hear about you.”

Callum smiles, she’s a bit brash but in the short time Frankie’s been here she’s already oddly growing on Callum. “Right, sorry. Okay, I’m —”

The door opens to Callum’s left and Sonia pokes her head in again. “Sorry to interrupt, you had a latecomer in the lobby and I walked him back. I hope it’s not too late.” 

Callum stands, setting his clipboard down on the empty chair next to him. “‘Course not.”

She smiles gratefully, pushes the door open fully and ushers in another member, stepping aside to motion for him to come across the threshold. “This is Ben, Ben this is our new group therapy leader —”

“Callum.”

Ben’s voice is soft and incredulous, stopped in his tracks and staring with wide, unbelieving eyes. Callum’s sure he’s got a twin expression, the rate of his heart suddenly tripling and beating against his ribs like it was trying to escape the confines of his chest. Never in a million years would he have imagined Ben Mitchell coming through this door, the Ben Mitchell he met his first night in Walford, who talked to him for hours, who he kissed for hours and slept with and woke up next to and who he held in the darkened square and laid in his own bed and fucking  _ daydreamed about  _ not twenty-four hours earlier. Ben Mitchell. Of all people to come into this room.

“Oh,” Sonia says, surprised, “Do you know each other?”

“No,” Ben answers immediately, he drops eye contact and something breaks inside Callum, deep inside and muffled, the sound reverberating internally through him when he exhales. “The receptionist told me his name.”

_ He’s lying. _ He’s not a good liar but Sonia and the others can’t tell, they don’t know him. And now Callum has to pretend he doesn’t either.

“Glad you could make it.” He can play along. Callum’s still staring at him but now Ben won’t meet his eyes. He’s stuffed his hands in his pockets, still rooted to the spot just inside the door.

“Good night, everyone.” Sonia gently nudges Ben towards the circle as she exits back the way she came, closing the door softly behind her.

Ben walks to the folding chairs and sits in one, farthest from Callum, the direct opposite side of the circle. He keeps his eyes down, arms folded across his chest. One of his feet taps silently against the concrete floor and Callum watches it, closer to breaking down with every tap. Callum realises at once he’s still standing so he sits quickly, moving aside his clipboard and putting it back in his lap. 

“Well?” Frankie says. “Who are you?” 

Callum tries to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth until he sees she’s talking to Ben. He looks up at her angrily, eyes flashing, before Callum cuts in — “We were all introducing ourselves.”

Ben finally looks at him, his eyes two hot points of fury directed through Callum. Even from across the circle, Callum can see his chest heaving with breath, see the flushed red splashed across his cheeks. Callum’s mind is going a mile a minute, how does he fix this, how does he get back what he’s so clearly lost by now, how does he rewind time and tell Ben everything so this isn’t happening right now? He doesn’t know the answers to any of it.

“I’m Frankie,” she says, pointing to herself, “That’s Keegan, that’s Whitney, and you are?”

“Ben Mitchell.” 

He says it staring at Callum, and he feels the words slice through him. Callum even lets out a shaky exhale, looking down at the blank paper on his clipboard and feels like he might be sick, feels like the room is spinning on its axis.

“Now you have to go,” Frankie reminds him. This time she actually  _ is _ talking to Callum.

Ben’s got his courage back so he’s staring now, feet crossed at the ankles in front of him and leaning back in his chair. He cocks his head to the side a little, a challenge, and Callum can see it all over his face. Ben thinks this entire thing has been a lie — every word spoken between them was caked in deceit, every brush of their hands, every kiss, every silly text message, everything Callum’s ever said in the short but charged time they’ve known each other.

Betrayal. Callum can see it from a mile away. He wants to run across the circle and shake him, strip his soul bare and prove Ben wrong right here in front of everyone just to get him to stop looking at Callum like that, like he’s some cheap liar, someone who cheats and worst of all, like Ben expected it all along.

“I’m Callum Highway,” he says, lifting his chin. “I’m twenty-nine. I was in the army for a bit, then I was on the police for a bit. I realised I wanted to help people rather than just cuff them and lock them up and call it a day. I left the police and started training to be a therapist. Just as I finished my work experience at a military hospital, my husband was killed in a car accident. I moved here a few weeks ago for a fresh start.”

With every word he spoke, Ben’s eyes got wider and wider, the tight line of his lips thinning. By the time he’s done, Callum can see the flare of Ben’s nostrils, and the rise and fall of his chest hasn’t lessened. But his eyes shift a moment, a soft furrow in the brow when Callum mentions Chris. Ben drops it quickly, narrows his gaze again, goes back to tapping his foot.

A long moment of silence draws on in the room and Keegan speaks up — “That’s quite a load to drop on us at one time, ain’t it?” 

Whitney looks horrified and Frankie actually puts her hand over her mouth. Callum forgets about Ben for a minute, and lets out a loud laugh, breaking the silence. “Sorry, you’re right. Just wanted to set the tone. To be fully honest and put myself out there so hopefully you all feel like you can do the same.”

Keegan shakes his head in disbelief, but miraculously, Callum sees the faintest hit of a smile. He decides to run with it, putting Ben and his personal life on the back burner, opening the conversation for the session.

  
  
  
  


The hour seems to fly by after that, and Callum’s pleasantly surprised at how engaging Whitney, Frankie, and Keegan are with each other, in their own way. Ben of course, stays mute the entire time, save for the occasional glare at Frankie when she tries to get him to talk, or to Callum when he dares to look his way. But Callum never drops his eyes again, always letting Ben be the first to look away.

“We’re nearly at the end of our hour, so there’s something I want to give you all before you leave.” 

Callum gets up from his chair, setting aside his clipboard of scribbled notes to pull a cloth bag out from his desk drawer in the corner of the room. The group looks quizzically at him as he rounds the circle, reaching in the bag and pulling out a smooth, rounded gray rock to balance in his palm.

“River rocks start out with jagged edges,” Callum says, placing a rock in Whitney’s hand from outside the circle. “Centuries of water running over them, carrying them downstream, running into everything from tree stumps to animals to other rocks, wears down their sides to be smooth.” 

He places a rock in Keegan’s hand, and continues. “Their edges are worn down through years of unexpected things happening to them, storms and floods and droughts. But still, they remain. Solid and strong.” He reaches for another rock, gives it to Frankie. “As you all are here today.”

He gets to Ben’s chair, regards the back of his head as he refuses to turn at look at Callum. Waiting a few seconds, Callum finally leans in and places a smooth, black rock on the empty chair next to Ben before returning to his seat.

Frankie regards the rock in her palm for a few seconds, then looks back up at Callum. “Does this mean I have to keep comin’ back or something? Like if I don’t want to come anymore I have to give the rock back?”

Callum chuckles a little. “The rock is yours to keep. And you’re always welcome here at group.”

Frankie looks openly dissatisfied with that open-ended answer, Whitney’s clutching the rock in her fist looking like she’s about to cry, Keegan stares at it in his hand like it’s an oversized insect about to go for his throat.

Callum’s eyes travel to Ben, who still isn’t looking at him. The rock he’d placed next to Ben isn’t anywhere to be seen, which Callum isn’t sure is a good thing (perhaps he pocketed it) or a bad thing (perhaps he hid it under his thigh before he planned to pitch it at Callum’s face after storming out).

The silence stretches on a few more seconds, and Callum sees the clock at the far end of the room flip to  _ 7:00 _ on the dot. He places the bag of rocks on the ground and clears his throat, “Well, that’s seven, so we’re done for tonight, and —”

Before he’s reached the end of his sentence, Ben’s pushed his chair back, the metal of the legs dragging noisily across the cement floor, shattering the quiet in the room. His footsteps seem to echo as he rushes out, yanking the door open angrily and letting it slam shut behind him. Callum imagines the walls vibrate from the force of it.

Whitney, Keegan, and Frankie stare at his back as he leaves, and Whitney jumps when the door crashes against the frame. They all turn to look at Callum in unison, something akin to  _ what was that all about  _ written on their faces. A great first impression. He tries to gather his thoughts, put his best neutral face on before speaking.

“Ah, anyway, I’ll be here every Tuesday and Thursday at six. You’re welcome to come both days or just one, as frequent or infrequent as you like. Completely up to you.” He looks around at the three of them — Whitney avoiding his eyes, Frankie irritated, Keegan looking like he’d probably rather be anywhere else. “So, if there’s no questions, I’ll… See you next week.”

Callum ends the session and his three remaining group members stand up awkwardly, Keegan and Frankie hurrying off separately. Callum stands and begins to fold the chairs when he notices Whitney’s hung back.

“Alright, Whitney?” he asks.

“Just…” She looks massively uncomfortable again, still not able to fully meet his eyes as she talks mostly to the floor. “Thank you for starting this group. You’re already much better than the last bloke. I tried coming a few times, but he was about a hundred years old and could never keep any of our names straight, let alone our stories.”

Callum doesn’t think she’s said that many words at one time the entire night she was here at the session aside from her introduction, so he’s a little taken aback. He tries his best to play off his surprise and he masks it in a chuckle. “Thanks, I really appreciate it. I hope I’ll see you again next week.”

Whitney clutches the purse strung around her torso and nods. She smiles at him, still tentative, and leaves quickly through the door.

Alone in the room again, Callum lets out an exhale he feels like he’d been holding for the last hour. He had enough nervousness going into the first group but now he’d be here every week with Ben?  _ Don’t kid yourself, _ he thought,  _ You really think he’s going to come back after that? Or that he’s ever going to speak to you again, at all? _

_ No,  _ Callum has to answer himself, dropping into one of the chairs in the circle. Forget about coming to group, forget about anything Callum let himself daydream about him and Ben and whatever was blooming between them over the short time they’d known each other. No, Callum doubted he’d ever see Ben Mitchell again.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kay_okays) and [tumblr](https://kay-okays.tumblr.com/) xoxo
> 
> thank you for all the nice things you say about my fics. <3


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